i've been careless with a delicate man

So I accidentally cupped a dude's genitals again.

Yes, again.

See, I was heading into a deli the other morning and after a quick glance over my left shoulder, it appeared that I had a clear path to the entrance. As I made my lane change, some guy attempted to pass me on the left and walked right into my arm which was vigorously swinging back and forth courtesy of my brisk, rush-hour pace.

I ended up with a fistful of fabric and just a smidge of actual pecker. I'm not sure if it was the placement of my hand or an actual lack of girth that yielded that result.

I considered diffusing the awkward situation by saying "Now turn your head and cough" but my victim did not seem the jocular type. He sort of harrumphed and then scampered off to his office cheeks all aflame. So, no hernia jokes for him.

In hindsight, I'm thinking it was an actual lack of girth.

In other news, I went to my first-ever Poetry Vs. Comedy Show, presented by the talented Cheryl B. I swung by to support Cheryl plus two of the evening's performers: Christine Hamm and Greg Walloch.

Greg and I met when we performed at last year's way gay installment of The WYSIWYG Talent Show. We chit-chatted and got caught up and I told him about the acting class I took a few months back. I even tooted my own horn a bit about my success with the various improv exercises we had to do.

As if on cue, Cheryl swooped in and asked me if I'd like to be one of the judges in the show. Instant panic on my part.

"Um, will I have say things out loud?" I asked. Seriously, I'm not sure how I even managed the question since all the moisture in my mouth had dried up. I get crazy cotton mouth when I'm nervous, you see.

I was informed that, yes, I would actually have to, you know, speak and stuff. The cotton mouth was joined by a major knot in my belly. Yet, despite the crippling fear, I agreed and took my seat next to the two other judges (both hilarious, by the way) and got down to the business of passing judgment on others.

And I had a great time doing it! I even managed to rattle off a few comments along with my scores. Although, there was one time that my mind went blank and I sort of just nose-breathed into the mic. 'Cause I'm all sorts of smooth like that. So much for my touted improv technique.

The PVC show is awesome and I seriously suggest you all go to the next one. Check out the PVC site to find out more about upcoming shows.

Thanks!

gonna let my hair hang down

I was goofing around with one of those online tools which allows you to upload a photo of yourself and then try on different hairstyles. It's a very useful application if you use it for its intended purpose... But what's the fun in that?!

Behold a 4-year-old me sporting a recent Madonna 'do:

It really beats the uneven bowl cut in the original photo, no? I'd like to say that I took scissors to my own hair hence the haphazard length of the bangs but my mother actually paid someone to do that to me.

No wonder I'm on the Paxil.

tag-teamed

I was tagged by both the lovely Cheryl B. and the equally-lovely Zeebahtronic for the "8 Things About Me" meme. Hot.

Actually, throw Cinemania into the mix as well because he also picked me for this exercise.

I feel so special. Or ganged up on. Not sure which...

Rules:
1. We have to post these rules before we give you the facts.
2. Players start with eight random facts/habits about themselves.
3. People who are tagged need to write their own blog about their eight things and post these rules.
4. At the end of your blog, you need to choose eight people to get tagged and list their names.
5. Don't forget to leave them a comment telling them they're tagged, and to read your blog.

And away we go...

1. I do a mean Scottish accent. I simply cannot tell a story involving my very Scottish parents without imitating them. It's a huge draw at parties because I will do it on command. Seriously, last weekend at the Beer Garden, The Lovely Jess walked up to me and said, "Antiquated phone! Go!" and, on cue, I launched into this story complete with a Glaswegian accent at the appropriate parts. In truth, Jess requested "Transatlantic Phone Call" but that story is not in my archives. Bummer because it's a good one. I'll write it this week-ish.

1a. I'm The Lovely Jess's trained monkey. I really should start carrying around cymbals and a tin cup to collect change.

2. In college, I interned for Geraldo Rivera. I tend to think he's a tool but, believe it or not, he was quite nice to me. The producers of the show, not so much, but Geraldo himself was pleasant. I like to think it's because I was responsible for making his 6:00PM pot of hazelnut coffee and keeping the office stocked with Snackwells.

I also schooled his clueless production assistant on the finer points of buying beer. See, on my first day, the PA and I went shopping for green room supplies and beer for Geraldo's mini fridge, the same fridge I was later forced to defrost with plastic take-out utensils and a hairdryer borrowed from the makeup room. The upside of that exercise? "Handling freon" is now listed under the Special Skills section of my resume.

So, the PA and I went into a liquor store and she said, "Just buy a six pack because not all of the bottles will fit in the fridge." She then reached for a cold six pack of Sam Adams and I interjected, "Don't buy it cold if you can't keep it refrigerated. It will get skunky."

She had no idea what I was talking about so I explained the ill effects of re-refrigerated beer. At first she looked grateful for the tip and then her expression turned to disapproval. She sniffed, "Well, I don't drink very often!" in a tone that suggested that I, on the other hand, was a big ol' booze hound who made my own brand of hooch in my bathtub. I mean, I do but really, it isn't her place to judge me. Stupid beaver.

3. Every time I see that commercial with Erik Estrada promoting Bella Vista real estate on NY1, I'm tempted to sign up for the free property review. Who cares if it's in Arkansas! Free trip! Also, who knew Ponch was such an effective pitch man?

4. I've said this before but I cannot stress this enough: I have an irrational fear of mayonnaise. I cannot abide the stuff. When that commercial for squeezable mayo comes on television, I mash my eyes shut and plug my ears and go "LA LA LA LA LA!" I can't handle it.

In college, I briefly worked at a Stewart's drive-in. If someone requested mayo on their burger, I'd bring the production line to a halt and make someone else come over to my station to apply it. Or I'd throw the mayo packets in the bag and make them do it themselves. Minimum wage was not nearly enough to make me handle that toxic waste.

5. I'm petrified of thunder, a fear I no doubt inherited from my mother. During bad storms, she'd bust out the holy water and make us bless ourselves. In retrospect, didn't the application of water make us that much more susceptible to lightning strikes? At least our burns would be in the shape of a cross, I guess...

6. When I was in college, I spent three summers in a row working as a janitor, er, sorry... custodial engineer. My mother got me the job. Every morning, I had to report to the head custodian of a middle school and help the staff scrape gum off the desks and clean the classrooms.

Clearly, my mother hated me.

The classrooms were hot and stuffy and the janitors smoked like chimneys and cursed like sailors. There was a female custodian on staff named Carol who was a dead ringer for Carla from Cheers, right down to the tight curls, loud wardrobe and salty 'tude. She also insisted on singing along at top volume to every song that came on CBS FM.

Thanks to Carol, I will forever associate the sound of doo-wop with the smell of Fantastik and Merit cigarettes.

7. I am the winner of several dubious art awards. In high school, one of my black-and-white photographs was honored in a display right outside the racy Love Clothes, Ltd. store at the Mill Creek Mall in Secaucus, NJ. Jealous?!

The other award was Honorable Mention for a poster I illustrated in fifth grade touting the benefits of good posture. I even got a certificate from a panel of chiropractors. Again, jealous?

8. Despite my many proclamations that I'm The Worst Lesbian Ever™, I'm really good at softball. Like, I hit home runs, make double plays and still slide into bases and stuff.

8a. I keep Mineral Ice in my medicine cabinet at all times.

I hereby tag the following:

:: The Lovely Jess
:: JC
:: Meg
:: Eric
:: Rusty
:: Post No Bills
:: Tina-cious
:: House of Jero

If you do it, cool. If not, no pressure. I'll just silently hate on you. That is all.

robert smith is my homeboy

I had a crappy morning. My subway ride was completely jacked making me late for a meeting, which is never a good thing but it's particularly horrifying when you're the new girl. Aaaawkward.

In my frenzy to get into the office, I had to blow off my usual coffee pitstop. So not only was I tardy and stressed, I was not sufficiently caffeinated.

Curly - caffeine = Major cranky pants³.

After I returned from the meeting, the loud chick with the upspeak problem who sits next to me announced that she was tuning her radio station from Top 40 to an "oldies" channel. Because she's the self-appointed office DJ, apparently.

When I heard her announce the switch, I was a bit relieved because I thought those of us in earshot were going to be treated to The Beatles and that ilk.

Silly me.

Apparently her idea of oldies is music from the 90s. Bitch subjected me to Hootie and the Blowfish and that song that keeps repeating the line "Please Don't Go" and, ew, Mariah Carey.

You know, that's enough to send me into a rage on a good day but when my baseline is already bitchy, I'm ready to go all Dr. David Banner on people's asses. I'd tell her that but she'd probably go, "Wait, who?"

You know, because she's 12.

So, since I can't afford to bust through any more of my clothing and it's impolite to run around the office destroying things, I opted instead to insert my headphones and soothe my sullen, scowling self with selections from The Cure's discography. Ah, much better.

Speaking of the macabre, The Lovely Jess has once again cracked open her notebook of angsty adolescent poems. You do NOT want to miss this one. I had to cup my hand over my mouth to conceal both gasps and giggles. Check it out.

the magical tale of mr. coffee

Sit back, my friends, and you'll hear a tale of a common household appliance embarking on a magical journey. It's a story that is close to my heart because I was there at the birth of this odyssey.

No, I'm not high.

See, it all began on Saturday night right outside the "Secret Bathroom" at the big ol' Beer Garden in Astoria.

Actually, wait, no... this story really begins back in November when I went to the Beer Garden with The Lovely Jess, Azee, Meg and Celine, who, while Canadian, is not to be confused with the chest-thumping warbler of power ballads bearing the same name.

It was back then that we discovered that in addition to serving up pitchers of Belgian beer and enormous plates of kielbasa, the Beer Garden is also a veritable treasure trove of random found objects in and around its bathrooms.

For example, Jess located a pair of stray yellow undies on the TP dispenser in the onesie bathroom near the bar. Sadly, the discarded drawers were removed before she could go back with a camera and a pair of tongs (to photograph from different perspectives, see).

Later, we realized there was a less-crowded bathroom on the second floor that was devoid of long lines as well as dirty panties draped all over the fixtures.

Even bigger bonus? We discovered a stockpile of random crap right next to the bathroom. So, naturally, we began poking around and playing with it. Um, wait... after writing that sentence, I feel I should explain that despite its close proximity to the bathroom, this wasn't actual crap we were playing with. It was just, you know, crap... Brick-a-brack... Junk, if you will.

So anyway, I took quite the shine to a child-sized aluminum crutch that was adorned with a rather pathetic lone strand of pink gift-wrap ribbon. Side note: Wow, what a shitty birthday present to give someone.

Now, as one is prone to do in this situation, I leaned all 5'8" of me on the crutch and began hobbling around while saying, "God bless us, everyone!" in an English accent.

I know what you're thinking: "If I had a nickel..."

So, fast forward to Saturday night... word around the Beer Garden was that the wee crutch was spotted... under the arm of a drunk chick who was doing her own imitation of Tiny Tim.

My friends, I do believe that not only does my soul mate exist, she hangs out in nearby Queens. Clearly, I need to track her down and make her my woman.

Not to be outdone and certain there were more tchatkes to be found and jokes to be made at the expense of the crippled and infirm, the delightful Megan and I took a trip to the Secret Bathroom... which, as it turns out, is not so secret anymore because I had to wait in a damn line every time I needed to pee.

Who told?!?

But that's neither here nor there. Actually, it's kind of relevant, come to think of it. That wait time is what gave Megan and I the opportunity to really rifle through the stash. And guess what I found? Another crutch! This one was full-size, yet ribbon free.

Seriously, what is up with all the abandoned medical supplies at this place? Like, does Jesus swing by on occasion to perform miracles? "You are healed. Go forth... but leave the crutch. Yes, right there next to the bathroom. Thank you. Next!"

Finding a second (different sized) crutch really boggled my mind. But not so much that I couldn't manage to do a bit of improv with found props when given the chance.

Now because I'm loathe to repeat myself, I dropped the Christmas Carol routine from my act and opted instead for something in the military realm. I was feeling patriotic, I guess. So I tucked the crutch under my arm, raised it to a 90 degree angle and made like Rambo squeezing off a few rounds. I may have even said, "I'm your worst nightmare."

Meanwhile, Megan had set her sights on an abandoned coffee maker sitting on top of an empty coat rack. She lovingly removed the coffee maker from its sad berth, dusted if off and declared it hers. I witnessed and encouraged the "adoption," shall we say, and after posing for a picture taken by a girl who looked too scared and confused to refuse our request, Megan, the Coffee Pot and I began the first leg of this magical journey.

For the rest of this this heartwarming tale, go check out Megan's site. Two words: photographic evidence.

'cause if i was an oscar meyer weiner...

Thanks again to everyone who came to the first-ever Weenie Roast! I had no idea what to expect in terms of turnout but hot damn, we represented! Give yourselves a high five.

It was awesome to see everyone mingling, socializing and getting to know each other. No poor souls were neglected and shunted off to the side looking all forlorn and rejected. You know, kind of like how I felt during my college years when dragged by my friends to all those miserable bars in Jersey (with the exception of the venerable Aldo's, God rest him, er, it?)...

But everyone at the Weenie Roast was all social and cool like Fonzie even though it was hotter than... uh... you know, something really hot.

Sorry. I'm still tired. Work with me here.

I'd like to give a wee shout out to Helen the Felon, my co-conspirator in yesterday's shenanigans. Sadly, she was unable to join us but she was there in spirit. Helen, you were missed, like, a lot and stuff. Get well soon and get your sweet ass back to NYC so we can be irresponsible and inappropriate together tout de suite.

Here's the list of attendees* so y'all can schmooze/stalk/spam each other:

:: Annie

:: Big D

:: Bird on the Wire NYC

:: Cheryl B

:: Christine

:: Confessions of a Southern Boy in Yankee Land, aka my future showtune karaoke duet partner. FYI, get me drunk enough and I'll attempt "Another Hundred People." Sondheim, yo. Because I'm hardcore like that.

:: Crash and Byrne

:: Evan (Honorary Lesbian)

:: Gena

:: Haviland

:: House of Jero

:: Hyperdonut

:: JC and Marisa, two of my most favorite people ever

:: Joe.My.God.

:: The Lovely Jess (Honorary Lesbian and original Rug Rat)

:: The Lunar Gemini

:: Paul

:: Phoebe's Phather

:: Post No Bills

:: Royspeaking

:: Rusty's Balcony, undisputed winner of the Longest Distance Traveled Award. Rusty came all the way from Austin, TX for this soiree. Makes me misty, it does.

:: See My Briefs

:: Stephanie (Honorary Lesbian)

:: Surplus (Honorary Lesbian)

:: This Girl Called Automatic Win

:: Tina-cious, winner of the Most Gracious Deflection of a Pick-up Line by an Aging Lesbian Wearing a T-Shirt with a Double Entendre on It Award. Tina smiled and explained her marital status (to House of Jero) whereas I begged off with a story about being in some cult which required me to take part in orgies with various reporters on the NY1 news team. FYI, George Whipple? Surprisingly well hung. You know what they say about the size of a man's unibrow...

:: Uffish Thoughts

:: Zaedryn

:: Zeebahtronic and L

Thanks to Cattyshack for hosting us. And thank you all again for coming! At the very least, I hoped for a modest showing but you exceeded my expectations and then some. So, thanks. I'd love to do it again soon, preferably when it's not so hot and I don't look all clammy and pitted in every photo. So, how about we reconvene in the fall? Suggestions welcome!


* If I inadvertently left anyone off the list, I sincerely apologize. Just let me know and I'll right my wrong ASAP.

digestion

I am pleased to report that the Weenie Roast went off without a hitch. Sure, it was hot as balls up on the roof deck and based on the way I soaked through my shirt, I really should by all rights rename myself Schweaty McArmpits. Lawdy, do I perspire.

But gnarly glandular issues aside, it was awesome. I met loads of cool new people and reconnected with plenty of familiar faces. I had a great time and want to thank everyone for schlepping out to Brooklyn on such a hot day. I'll post a proper recap with names later but for now, I need to go hump my air conditioner.

Before I go do dirty dirty things to my Fedders window unit, here are a few pictures I took. Forgive the paltry number but my batteries crapped out early into the evening because, like a dumb ass, I forgot to charge them. I'm sure there are other photos floating around out there that will be posted before long.

P.S. I'm a bit tired and tipsy at the moment so if I screwed up/forgot any names in the photo descriptions, help a sister out and add them in the comments on Flickr. Please and thank you! More to come...

weenie roast: faq

REMINDER: Tomorrow is the first-ever Weenie Roast! Mmm... barbecued meat substitute.

I thought I'd take this opportunity to address a few questions and/or clear up any confusion.

1. Can I bring anything to the Weenie Roast?
Just your hot selves... plus cash, your I.D. and a digital camera for blackmailing purposes. Um, I mean posterity...

While it's lovely of you to ask, you do NOT have to bring burgers, hot dogs, bean dip, chips, a George Foreman Grill, etc. We're technically attending Cattyshack's weekly Beer Bust which means I will not be cooking shit, nor will I be wearing a chef's hat or an apron that says "Kiss the Cook." Although, that would be kind of cute, come to think of it...

The bar does all the supplying and grilling. If you want to stuff your face all day, you pay $15 at the bar and you'll be hooked up with a wristband that grants you unlimited access to the grill and certain beer taps. Sayeth the fine folks at Cattyshack:

$15 all u can eat & drink! Vegetarian and meat eater options, pasta, salad, and more! Miller Lite and Cattyshack Brew pints. $5 featured Margarita! 2pm-9pm. No Cover.

If you're a wine or mixed drink lover, those beverages are not covered in the $15 but you can still get your fix at the bar.

2. What's the dress code?
Flannel shirts layered over Lilith Fair t-shirts, high-waisted pegged jeans and Birkenstocks, of course. No exceptions.

No seriously, wear whatever you want. As long as you're rocking a shirt and some form of footwear, you'll be allowed entry.

3. Where the bar at, yo?
It's on 4th Avenue in Park Slope, Brooklyn (map). It's less than a block away from the Union Street stop on the R train. Check out HopStop to chart your subway or bus route.

4. How will I find you merry band of weenie roasters?
If you're really concerned about locating us, just email me and I'll make arrangements with you. But the roof deck is large enough to accommodate a big crowd but not so big that you'll be wandering around in a panic trying to locate us. I'll be the tall, Irish/Scottish-looking broad with the head o' curls.

Also, we'll have several men in attendance so we should be an easy group to spot in a lesbian bar. Just follow the glare of the super hard-core penis-eschewing types.

Any other questions/concerns, please let me know. I'm looking forward to meeting all of you tomorrow!

broadway barks

In the market for a new cat or dog? Consider adopting one while hobknobbing with the likes of Mary Tyler Moore and :: all bow :: Bernadette Peters. I loves me some Bernadette, see.

Here are the details:

BROADWAY BARKS 9 will take place on Saturday, July 14th in Shubert Alley (located between 44th and 45th Streets, between Broadway and Eighth Avenue). The festivities begin at 3:30 p.m.; celebrity presentations of pets from citywide animal shelters will take place between 5:30 and 6:30 p.m. (In the event of rain, BROADWAY BARKS 9! will be rescheduled for Saturday, July 28 from 3:30p.m. - 6:30p.m.)

Celebrities scheduled to join Peters and Moore for this special benefit, presenting the animals for adoption include: Angela Lansbury (Deuce); Audra McDonald (110 in the Shade); Harry Hamlin and Lisa Rinna (Chicago); David Hyde Pierce, Edward Hibbert, Jason Danieley, Michael McCormick, Debra Monk, and Karen Ziemba (Curtains); Jerry Mathers and Paul Vogt (Hairspray), Priscilla Lopez and Mandy Gonzalez (In the Heights); Christine, Ebersole, Mary Louise Wilson, John McMartin and Maureen Moore (Grey Gardens); Cheyenne Jackson, Kerry Butler and Mary Testa (Xanadu); Michael Cerveris (LoveMusik); Jo Anne Worley, Beth Leavel, John Glover, Gerry Vichi and Patrick Wetzel (The Drowsy Chaperone); Ashley Brown, Jane Carr, Daniel Jenkins, and Gavin Lee (Mary Poppins); Marin Mazzie, Jonathan Hadary, David Hibbard and Martin Moran (Spamalot); Xanthe Elbrick (Coram Boy); Charlotte D'Amboise and Michael Berresse (A Chorus Line); John Earl Jelks (Radio Golf); Michael Mulheren (Deuce); Christian Hoff, J. Robert Spencer and John Lloyd Young (Jersey Boys); Judy McLane (Mamma Mia); Laura Belle Bundy, Orfeh and Andy Karl (Legally Blonde); Lea Michele (Spring Awakening); Sebastian Arcelus, Jayne Houdyshell, and Kendra Kassebaum (Wicked); Stephanie J. Block (The Pirate Queen); among others.

If you can't attend the event, please visit BroadwayBarks.com for more information on pet adoption. Thank you.

on work and roastin' weenies

I'm officially into week 2 of the new job. So far, still so good. I'm working long hours but once I get the hang of the things, I can manage my time better. Kindly bear with my blog neglect until I'm back in the occupational comfort zone. Translation: When I feel comfortable enough to slack.

Reminder! The Weenie Roast is almost upon us!! Are you coming? Here's the info:

Click to enlarge

When: Sunday, July 15, 4PM - ???
Where: Roof Deck at Cattyshack
249 4th Avenue, Brooklyn;
(between President & Carroll Streets)
Directions & more info: cattyshackbklyn.com

Gay boys, breeders and non-bloggers (oh my) welcome!

UPDATED: Weenie Roast: FAQ

*************************

Attending: Me, duh; The Ninth Circle of Helen; Surplus; Joe.My.God., Tina-cious; House of Jero; Post No Bills: New York Adventures in Banality; NY Radical; Zeebahtronic; Babs' Travels; This Girl Called Automatic Win; Meanwhile; The Misadventures of an Adult Onset Athlete; Hyperdonut; Royspeaking; Confessions of a Southern Boy in Yankee Land; Rusty's Balcony; Crash and Byrne; Uffish Thoughts; Blind Cavefish; Cheryl B; Kelli Dunham; See My Briefs; The Lunar Gemini

Let me know if you're coming and I'll link to you. Spread the word! Danke und bitte.

on new starts and bad booty

Today was my first day at the new job. The verdict: I didn't hate it. Of course, the office is dead quiet because of the holiday so I may soon change my mind but the outlook so far is good. I even wrote myself a to-do list and on it, I included the terms "deliverables" and "speculation." I think that's the first time I ever used jargon when writing a note to myself. I can talk the talk and "manage up" when need be but I usually spare myself the lingo. But whatever, maybe it means I'm taking my job seriously and I'm engaged and want to do well. Let's hope.

One downside... the chick sitting next to me (temporarily) is in sales and she's on the phone a lot. Even worse, she's guilty of the upspeak. You know what I'm talking about? When one's inflection suggests that everything is a question even when it's not?

It goes a little something like this: "I'm just calling to touch base? And to tell you that just sent you an insertion order? For your run of site campaign? Blah, blah, blah?"

I also heard her say to someone in a completely lifeless monotone, "Oh my God, you're so funny." And she was being complimentary, not sarcastic. I don't get that. See, for me, when I'm extolling the virtues of someone's sense of humor, it's usually through fits of laughter while desperately trying to simultaneously catch my breath and suppress pee squirts. My bladder's trigger finger is getting itchier and itchier, you see.

But I've said too much.

On a completely unrelated note, I saw a report on the news this weekend about the Veggie Booty recall. Personally, I think that stuff is gnarly so I didn't have to clean out my cabinets. I'd be more upset if it were Pirate's Booty or Potato Flyers making people ill. That shit's good. Veggie Booty = very very bad.

But back to the news... The CW 11 News at 10 aired the following graphic during the report (highlight mine):

Is it just me or does that last bullet point sound like an ass injury? Perhaps one of the side-effects of too much shaking of said booty? The result of some over-aggressive booty slaps, maybe?

Whatever. It made me giggle?